


A Nighttime Visitor

by Massgrav



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fever, First Person Narrative, Sleep Paralysis, gothic horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24961255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Massgrav/pseuds/Massgrav
Summary: "I then laid in my bed, feverish, recovering from the bite of an exotic spider which found its way out of my terrarium and into one leg of my trousers. [...] The medicine I was given as to lessen my pain might have played its part in the events that ailed me, though in my history of feverous delirium, I do not recall having ever experienced anything similar. "
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	A Nighttime Visitor

**Author's Note:**

> Short tale written directly after my first episode of sleep paralysis. I had to channel the inspiration it gave me somewhere... Hope you enjoy it ! :D

I am what one could call a rational thinker, entitled to my opinion that _these_ phenomenons are but trickery performed by a hallucinating mind, in a given time and environment. Indeed, the mind is such a wondrous thing : it can bring us all to doubt even our deepest beliefs, and lead us to consider, even for the briefest moment, the existence of the unnatural and impossible. Who has never thought to see faces in walls of stone, or animal silhouettes in the clouds, parading before a daydreamer's eyes ? I firmly believe these manifestations will one day be explained thanks to scientific advances, and that all suspicion of plans of existence exterior to our own will be refuted.

And yet, despite such an introduction, I cannot help but be bewildered in the face of the maddening events that occured in the past week.  
I then laid in my bed, feverish, recovering from the bite of an exotic spider which found its way out of my terrarium and into one leg of my trousers. My doctor had advised me to remain in bed as much as possible, and to avoid any unnecessary movement. My strength being reduced to dust, I had but little choice. The medicine I was given as to lessen my pain might have played its part in the events that ailed me, though in my history of feverous delirium, I do not recall having ever experienced anything similar.

On the first night of my journey to betterment, I had been laying motionless since earlier that afternoon, struck by a violent fit. I could not perform a single movement without a throbbing pain panging me through, thus giving me little choice in the range of activites available to me. To sleep – or at least to attempt to – was but the only endeavour I could easily pursue, as reading made my eyes ache and strain, and partook in feeding the fires of fever. I drifted into sleep in relative peace. and I do not know for how long I had been slumbering when I awoke at once, as though called to consciousness by a disincarnated voice ; my eyelids pulled up by microscopic hooks. Behind my eyes seemed to rave the fires of Hell, licking and lapping at the walls of my skull. I was coated in sweat, my heart thumped in my chest, and I found myself utterly unable to move.  
The moon's pale light was cast from the window above my head and poured into the room, gorging it in ghostly gleams ; a pallid, mournful sister to the Sun's passionate glow. Trying to breathe I all but coughed, flying the floating glitter of mothwing-dust into a furious waltz.

It was on _this_ moment I sensed it. I write _sense_ , for I cannot be certain it had already materialized to me – as it later on did. It seemed to exist and yet not ; to be half-here, half— _where_?  
I perceived a motion in the corner of my burning eye, and promptly turned it to its source. I peered into the farthest corner of my room, just behind the door, where no moonlight could reach. _It_ stood beyond the threshold of silver, as though unable to cross it. Its essence was pulsing, darker than the surrounding shadows, as a hole burnt within the tapestry of night.  
Yet my sight and mind were confused, and I fell back into a distressed Morpheus' feeble arms, cradling me with great pain. When my eyes opened again, still ensmoked by the remnants of fever's pyres, morning's gentle rays had touched alight the shadows. Dawn writhed gracefully to each corner of the room, filling my heart with tremendous relief. I tried to battle my dire need to drift to sleep again, wishing to bask in this impression of utter peace and to enjoy this tender warmth, before it were overrun by Summer's lavish heat. With fatal eventuality, my eyes closed again, and I slumbered until my next, delirious awakening.

For the two nights that followed, the pattern repeated itself : the silhouette was there, standing unlit and utterly still in the corner. It was only one night later that it finally _moved_.  
It had crossed the threshold, and when I expected it to be dissolved by this blessed light, it only seemed to absorb it within its void. I stared, wide-eyed, as I could undoubtedly make out the contours of a human shape – but _tall_ , and impossibly gaunt. Was it my angle of perception that bewitched my vision, and made it appear so tortuous ? It observed me, scrutinized me, _learnt_ me. It stood attentively, as the most focused pupil a mentor could ever dream to teach to.  
Now that I look back with a clearer mind, and had things not evolved, I could have believed it were but the mooncast shadow of a sinuous tree. However, trees do not bend their _head_ – it tilted it to one side, as a dog or an owl thriving to understand a situation. Yet unlike any of these good and harmless beings, its neck craned unnaturally, and creaked, and cracked, the horrid sound suffocating itself in the marrow of my bones. I must have fainted, overtaken by the shock of my vision and my general weariness ; and awoke only at noon the following day – when fever and the Sun peaked ruthlessly.

Upon telling my nurse about this peculiar event, she rolled mocking eyes, arguing it must have been but the fever. I could not blame her skepticism. In ordinary times, _I_ would always be the first one to speak against any theory of ghosts or spirits.  
But the night that followed seemed to work actively, dedicatedly in the aim of changing my entire mind, and to demonstrate me how foolishly, ignorantly blind I had been all this time. It was these dark forces' one opportunity to display to me the entire extent of their potence, and I was helpless in front of their performance.

It stood at the foot of my bed. I gazed, paralyzed in fear and plunged in utter darkness ; as a legion of clouds shrouded the nightsky, and neither moon nor starts were anywhere to be seen, I was deprived of even the faintest shard of light – and hope. _No light_ came through my window, and yet I could _see_ it, swallowing the darkness within the pitch-black maelstrom of its too-human shape, cut cleanly into the fabric of shadows. It stood out of Night's raven wings, head bent down to my petrified form, its _hands_ knotted together at the level of its _chest_. All these parts belong to mankind, and yet I could see them attached to this entity of coal mist, all too distinctly. Its long, bony fingers twisted together, tangled as bone-flowers, clicking and shifting as though playing ghost notes upon an invisible trumpet. The hollows of its eyes sank within me their ghoulish gaze, stiffling my soul.

I was _not_ delirious. I was but conscious – terribly conscious, and at the mercy of this unearthly, curious visitor, doubtlessly far away from its desolate, distant dimension.  
As its intense stare burned within me, sending me to plummit down the pits of Hell, I perceived the repetitive, though discreet motion of its skeletal shoulders. Was it _breathing_? I understood it was attempting to imitate me, to get acquainted with my manner of existence – to what use ? To what grim end ? The sudden rush of my imagination crippled my sanity, and in panick I withdrew to a sitting position as to get as far from _it_ as possible. It seemed to blink – confusion ? Could such creatures display such human reactions ? How long had it been studying me – studying _us_?  
Whether it were from exhaustion or shock that my consciousness then slipped away, I cannot recall.

Every impression of anguished terror dimmed with the coming of dawn, and vanished utterly as day stretched its comforting, though scalding light across my fever-filled hours. Once again I told my nurse, and once again she rolled her eyes, though her features bore the tension of concern. She advised me to take sleeping pills for the night to come, and without pondering for a single heartbeat upon the thought, I accepted. I direly needed rest, and these monstrous visions deprived me of this one key ingredient to my full recovery. But it did not suffice to hold it away, and without fault, it came back.

Under the entrancing spell of the drug, I found myself unable to lift open my eyelids of led, though I was slowly surfacing to consciousness. My other senses, however, were wide awake and alarmed. My hearing betrayed _its_ presence just aside me – inhaling, exhaling, sighing, hissing in mimetism to my own breathing, though no air seemed to circulate through its shell. How can life flow into a hollow tree ? My sense of touch was the one to transmit the most intense, helpless terror I have ever been faced with : the mattress sank, as characteristically as when someone sits down upon it. It crept closer now, to my face, and to my frightened soul. And then, feeling its scrawny hand closing in to my sweat-wrapped skin, I leapt from this bed of horrors, and shouted desperately, with voice broken, for immediate help. Before my now wide eyes I beheld my room, flooded with moonlight and emptiness.

The nights that followed could, in absolutely no way, be compared to this summit of terror I had just climbed – its merest memory chills me to the bone. _It_ was still here though in no manner as bold as it had been, remaining now at the foot of my bed ; hollow eyes staring, bony hands wringing. I do not know what intentions this being might have had in its twisted mind, or what fate it kept in store for me, had its talons only brushed at my skin. I am now fully recovered, and as I have not seen the creature last night, I truthfully believe it will never present itself to me again.  
Perhaps had it indeed been conjured up by fever-induced delirium ? As mentioned before, I am firmly doubtful of the existence of worlds other than ours – to the exception, perhaps, of Heaven and Hell, and all that stands for the notion of an afterlife. However, if this phenomenon I experienced is ever brought to be studied, I shall enthusiastically provide all testimonies and proof in my possession. Strange are the realms of sleep, and mysterious is what writhes and swarms beyond its walls.  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. First time posting an original work here ; please, do let me know what you thought ! I'm always open to criticism and advice, given English is not my mother language.  
> Much love ♥


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